


When I grow UP

by KittyMayhem



Category: Batman: The Animated Series, Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Superman/Batman (Comics), Superman: The Animated Series
Genre: Angst, Bruce Hates Magic, Drunkenness, Fluff, It's all magic's fault, Kid Fic, M/M, Magic, Magic did it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-03-26 14:38:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3854416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyMayhem/pseuds/KittyMayhem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark turned around, expecting to see Bruce asleep, partially awake, or glaring at him. Either one was a given, although all three could happen. He’d been known to do that. Still, it would have been better than to find a small moving lump of something squirming under the sheets. It wasn’t big enough to be any creature that could have snuck in here during the night, and if it were certain imp, Clark was sure there would have been someone screaming by now.</p><p>So rather than draw out the suspense…he grabbed the sheet, yanked it off, and fell off the bed.</p><p>An amused giggle rang through the room. It wasn’t him. He moved the sheets from where they’d piled upon his head and peered up into the drooling face of a baby.</p><p>A baby that reminded him a lot of Bruce…because it was glaring at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The rapture of Barney’s Demise relived in the Crescendo of the Teletubbies Savagery

**Author's Note:**

> Hi.
> 
> I'm new to posting on here, but not new to the fandom thing if you've ever read anything of mine. If you have, awesome. If not, well Hi, I'm kitty, nice to meet you. No, I'm not some new face you can kindly sit on and no, I'm not some overly joyful person full of light and sunshine. I'm kind of a jerk in my eyes. I'm self depreciating. I hate sunlight 40% of the time and the rest is spent wondering about odd things...namely why I'm not Tony Stark right now.
> 
> It works for me. Keeps the huggers at bay.
> 
> ANYWAY.
> 
> I started writing this thing a long, long, LOOONG time ago. I never finished it. I'm hoping that posting it here will encourage me to finish this along with several other works. I've not kept up with the revamp of the franchise because I am a lazy, LAZY, person and all of my love and devotion settled into this particular realm. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for the Superman/Diana thing they've got going about 30% of the time, but coooome ooooon.
> 
> Yes. I'm one of those. I'm not strictly DC or Marvel, but I know what I like. :D
> 
> Anyway, quickly: No flames. No reposting. YES I am ME. And no...there is no underage ANYTHING in here. 
> 
> Oh yeah...I tend to curse a lot. Apologies in advance. It...heightens things for me.

** Chapter 1:  **

**_The rapture of Barney’s Demise relived in the Crescendo of the Teletubbies Savagery_**  
 a.k.a.  
**_Bruce’s completely messed up day._**

+++++++++++++++++++++

It was getting harder and harder to shove it all to the side.

The laughter surrounding him was not his issue. He pushed that to the background noise, his thoughts of his day to day taking up the forefront of his mind. Someone like him was always in his thoughts. He didn’t quite care.

He was too busy trying to figure this issue out and failing miserably.

It wasn’t anything in his day to day that messed up the normalcy of his life. Hell, he thought bitterly, none of it was really normal. It wasn’t the messed up sleep cycle of day to night and night into day, nor the criminal life of daylight merging into night in both worlds he wandered through on maybe three hours of sleep some nights. That shit right there was easy. Shoving that to the side was right up there with saying no to mayo on his burger. It happened often enough that he didn’t realize he was doing it until it was done. By then, there was something new going on and the universal shrug of “whatever” had come and gone, leaving him to press on into the next bout of insanity.

His job under the cowl of black and in the collar of white was definitely NOT his issue.

That was saying a lot considering who he was.

“And then…he totally, get this…he totally pees all over himself screaming ‘I’m so sorry’!”

The laughter had grown and drowned out his thoughts. They were next to tears and trying to breathe through startled gasps of laughter. He  was seated amongst them, settled low in his seat and near the back of the group, right at the door where he could quickly escape if need be. He tried not to laugh at them, or with them. It’d break his M.O. and he didn’t need them looking at him funny. He was glad that he decided to forgo the cowl without the immobile visors. They couldn’t see his sidelong glance he gave the one spinning the tale. They were too busy laughing to hear him sigh silently, wondering about that damn problem he couldn’t fix shy of braining himself into not thinking about it.

Why the hell he was still sitting here and not leaving like normal idiots…well, he was an idiot.

He shuddered in pure horror of what his stomach did when their ring leader turned his sights on him with that blinding smile. “You would have been so proud,” he said, motioning to him with his hand. The man was a walking Crest commercial. “I didn’t laugh **once**. I wasn’t even looking for him and I started to tell him that, but his girlfriend comes screaming at me, ‘You can’t take my man!’ and he’s screaming, ‘It was just music! I didn’t mean to steal it!’”

Bruce, under the cowl, felt it before it happened. The little sideways smile he gave the head honcho was enough to light him and Vegas for months. To the others it was a rare form of mirth. He let them think that while he beat down the butterflies that were kicking his insides out. They were aiming at his heart when Superman, Clark to him always, toppled forward a bit and draped himself over his shoulder to laugh like it was the funniest thing on the planet right now.

It wasn’t the beer. Oh no. Clark was really that giggly.

It was endearing.

He smacked down the biggest butterfly headed for his chest.

“Let me guess,” he mused, “The criminal was in the apartment ABOVE…and the building was one of the few that is still painted with lead based paint.”

“Oh, ruin it why don’t you?” Superman smiled as he said this, lifting his head and smiling with that perfect set of teeth. A butterfly swooped past Batman’s dark demeanor and slapped him in the face with a “yeah bitch! What now?!”, leaving him speechless for once. It wasn’t noticed. Clark had lifted himself up completely and enraptured himself in one of Green Lantern’s odd stories. Not, Hal…but John. Hal wasn’t too much of a jokester these days. John could tell a tale with a straight face and still have everyone laughing, especially one of the newer league members, Wally…a.k.a. Barry’s protégée. The young speedster had graduated from sidekick to full time member about a year ago, and was valued for his tenacity as well as his carefree nature. He couldn’t see just how it happened, but John and Wally seemed to be opposites on the same line that functioned well…

He wanted to pinch his brain for the inappropriate thought that wiggled free with a screeching laugh.

It made him think about things….

It made him think about today….

**_Damn it._ **

And how utterly messed up it had gotten.

This? This right here? This joking around with his fellow leaguers was perhaps the most normal part of a not so normal day, and the beer in his hand was more than welcome right now. They didn’t do this often. They couldn’t afford to. The sheer amount of what they could put away was undocumented because it was just…he never wanted to know.  It was safer that way. Drunk super powered people?

Him on the other hand? All human. He was entitled to down as much as he wanted. Batman had his limits as well, and while he didn’t broadcast them—namely because the jerk-off Queen would find some way to exploit them—he’d gotten dangerously close to them. Nothing had gone right today. Not one damn thing.

“Bruce? Why are you frowning so much?”

Ah, Wonder Woman…how naïve she truly was…about his inner monologue. “I was just revisiting some areas of my last mission that should be scrutinized and fixed so that I don’t have a repeat of today.” That was a nice way of saying that he needed to remind himself of WHY he hated magic so much. “Sorry. I drifted.”

“Oh? And what happened?” Superman asked. “It can’t be that…wait, what beer is that for you?”

“My…” Shit. He didn’t remember. “Does it matter? It’s not like I’m driving home.” Good defense!

“What happened?”

“I ran into some cultists.”

Correction: He stumbled onto a bunch of writhing orgy goers that were convinced that sex enhanced their magic.

There was a lot of shit in this world that had some validity, and that was up there with the eyebrows of disbelief. As he was once told by a certain demon laced human, magic came in all forms. Sex was apparently a powerful tool in this craft, but that did not mean he wanted to see the pale liver spotted back of some random old man’s ass. Ever. In this lifetime even!

“Some cultists?”

“They had gotten their hands on something extremely dangerous.”

How they managed to get one of the artifacts of an actual God was beyond him. Gods were always misplacing things or having shit stolen and really, they were GODS. Stealing shouldn’t happen! The god that owned the artifact was furious enough about it to come charging into his house hours before and **demand** that he helped.

Batman still didn’t know how Alfred was going to get the charred Sandal marks out of his carpet. That was Ares for you. “I had to get it back…and I might have been involved in some…magical…nonsense.” There was an actual sorcerer amongst the ugly orgy, and it was not his cup of tea to have to fight anyone with their hairy nut sack slapping their legs every time they moved to leap at him.

He pressed the top of his head with a gauntlet, willing himself not to go beyond that moment. _Think sexy thoughts…but not about the man next to me…_ Oh like that would work.

“That doesn’t warrant that much…” Superman skeptically eyed him and the several bottles sitting nicely in front of him all in a row. “Something else happened.”

“Yes.” And that was all he would say on the matter.

He was not going to tell Superman, or anyone else, about the start of his day. How he’d been up half the night trying to work up the nerve to ask a certain someone out. Batman didn’t even know when he’d gotten the inclination to do anything of the like. He was a cold unfeeling bastard that just didn’t do relationships because they were messy, volatile, and endangered the wellbeing of his ice kingdom. Yet **_someone_** had to make their way under his skin…under that ice he’d placed in front of everything…and **smile**. Batman had been sucker punched in the heart by that smile years ago, and was just now thinking about how to go about taking it past that step without it being awkward.

Batman was not going to tell Superman how his sleepless night only went from sleepless to broken when the one—he was so NOT staring at him right now—he wanted to ask out called and gushed about how he finally… **finally** …managed to get a certain female reporter to go to dinner with him. Well, lunch. He was not going to tell Superman that he’d thrown his phone at the wall, or punched the closest thing possible…or that his hand was fractured because he hit something made of cement.

His walls won that battle. The Batcave just mocked him.

Under no circumstance was he **ever** going to tell Superman that after all that and a trip to his doctor, that he’d come home to find his Eldest boy sitting on the couch kissing not Barbara, but Queen’s neglected protégée, Roy. The guy had his right hand halfway up the back of Dick’s shirt and the left—he never wanted to know that much about his heir. They wore spandex. He never needed to know his “son” was well endowed or enjoying that kind of attention from ROY of all people.

Like a kick to the heart and his sanity wasn’t enough, Tim comes home. The little shit knew about those two looking like guilty teenagers when Batman had his back to them. Batman couldn’t bring himself to be mad about that. Tim didn’t care and he shouldn’t either.

He breathed and braced himself for release of the mental anguish of today.

That bastard Roy decided to ask Tim about his upcoming date. With Kon-El.

And then Alfred, his sweet loveable father figure, had reminded Batman about his upcoming holiday. **Tomorrow**.

If he weren’t a silent brooding bastard, he might have snapped the coffee table in half.

After his encounter with the magical nude nonsense, Ares getting his stuff back, and Batman getting some of the weirdest criminals he could think to have tonight, he was definitely not for telling Superman that some random old woman had stopped him and muttered something about his love being forever young until it grew with the one he held dear. At that point he’d just wanted a beer.

Or a scotch.

Or something strong.

Sitting here was normal. Sitting here trying not to be mad at Superman for actually getting a luncheon with Lois was normal. Drinking the rest of his beer and getting up without tripping to head for his room because the fucking butterflies were just being totally bitches right now was just lucky.

Oh…oh yeah. He was so drunk.

Just to prove that point…he turned around and took off his cowl without thinking about it.  It was HOT. “I bet none of you can walk a straight line,” he boasted, “Not one of you. I can. Why? Cause I am BAT-Fucking-MAN!”

And he departed…with a blackout he’d been waiting for.

Nine. He’d had Nine Beers. And three shots of fireball.

+++++++++++++++++++

“Oh shit…”

The words had slipped out of his mouth before he could think to curb them. Batman was going down and Superman was out of his seat, rushing to catch him before the man cracked his skull wide open. It would have probably enlightened him to what went on in the man’s head, but he really didn’t want to see Batman’s skull split open like that. He caught all two hundred thirty pounds of compacted muscle functioning as dead weight and lifted him easily. It paid to have superhuman strength.

He hefted Batman onto his shoulder and turned to the leaguers staring at the sight. “I think I better put him to bed,” he said. “I think he’s…probably had a very **bad** day.”

“What gave it away?” Green Arrow snorted. “The nine beers in front of him?”

“Now is not the time to be an ass,” Green Lantern—John—snapped.

“I was just stating the obvious…and it probably has something to do with what happened this morning.”

“Oh? And…what happened?” Wonder Woman inquired. “It can’t be bad enough to elicit this type of reaction.”

Green Arrow was quiet for a moment, eyeing his drink in hand. “He…might have caught Roy…kissing Dick.” He tossed back the rest of his vodka, a grimace on his face from the burn of the alcohol and of what Bruce had seen. Green Lantern let out a low whistle, blinking once at the archer searching for something else to knockback. “It was a bit of a shock to me, too…”

Flash snorted this time. “No shock there,” he muttered. “It’s about flipping time.”

“Wait, you knew?!” Oliver cried.

Flash shrugged. “What’s to know? They’ve been dancing around each other for the longest.”

“All that aside, I’m sure that can’t be all,” Wonder Woman said. “Something’s probably bothering him a lot.”

“Well, whatever it is…I’ll try and talk to him about it tomorrow,” Superman said. “Until then…you know protocol.”

Oh did they ever!

One too many bouts with magic and truth serum made it especially necessary to maintain that protocol.  In the event that Batman should ever do or say anything that would ruin his reputation as the one man that could silently kill them in their sleep, they were never to speak about it, never to mention it, or reminisce on it. At least not within hearing range. Batman would know and life would be surly for weeks before he let up.

They had never seen the man like this. It warranted some giggling when they stared at him draped casually over Superman’s shoulder like big black cat. It was still puzzling.

Superman was especially confused.  Batman had seemed to be having a good enough time.

Superman waved at everyone, deciding to call it a night himself. He was tired, and after a day like the one he had, he wasn’t up to staying up much longer. Batman being passed out on his shoulder shoved aside, he could safely say that this probably wasn’t one of his better days.

It wasn’t like they decided to have these types of nights. They happened randomly, and he was too glad for it tonight. While his metabolism didn’t allow for him to be as inebriated as others got after a few drinks, it was nice to just sit down and forget about the absurdity of life and just how stupid some people could be. It seemed like mankind was getting dumber…or complacent with their niche in life. Criminals were not how they used to be. They were either comical or completely psycho, in a manner that made Lex Luthor look sane. Today he’d gotten the comical batch. He’d needed it after today’s disaster of a lunch.

His stomach rumbled in protest of his lack of appetite.

Today had started off with promise. Well, **yesterday** had started off with promise.

After a silent mantra of his inner voice telling him “DO NOT MESS THIS UP”, he mentioned casually to his reporting partner, Lois, he wanted to have lunch with her the next day.

He’d be a liar if he said he was suave about it. Suave? No. That was Superman.

Clark Kent was a nervous wreck of a man that tripped over his laces, blurted out something about lunch, and hoped to the heavens that his face wouldn’t set itself on fire. He thought his heart would cave in when he spilled coffee right after and all over his reports.

She laughed at him.

She said YES.

 **That** was the important part. The **YES** part. As Clark, he’d smiled goofily and said, “Cool!”, but inwardly he was smacking himself for not thinking this through, and trying to decide where to take her. One didn’t just score a date—oh fuck (he’d been hanging around Bruce too much)—with Lois Lane and expect the world to fall into place.

Naturally, he’d called the one man who had an idea about how this sort of stuff worked. Bruce. Bruce hadn’t told him much more than to be himself, before the line went dead. As a matter of fact, Bruce had been silent through his entire babbling nervousness bleeding through his lips from his short circuiting brain because he finally, **finally** , asked Lois to lunch. He couldn’t have been happier if Lex Luthor pranced out in the street singing “I feel pretty” in a pink boa with the Joker pirouetting after him.

Hell, he almost pirouetted right alongside them.

After consulting with Bruce, well, getting a short answer, he’d gotten back to the matter at hand and got dressed. He grabbed the best suit he had in his closet, threw on some aftershave Bruce had handed him one day, and picked out a matching tie to round it all off. A quick adjustment of glasses he didn’t need on his face and bam! Instant hot man. Well, at least some of the ladies exiting their apartment thought so. Old Mrs. Harrison down the hall was especially randy about it, and Mr. Harrison winked at him in more than friendly way.

He’d gotten to work on time (bonus!) and managed to snag one of the cover stories in moments. Perhaps the suit did make the man? He didn’t know, and he wasn’t caring. Clark was more focused on his lunch date. Lois breezed into the office like the modern goddess she was, and she sat grinning from ear to ear across from him at her desk. Was she as eager about today as he was? Probably, though she was cooler than a cucumber. She was wearing something particularly nice, revealing a bit more leg and standing on pin heels that just made them look longer.

He should have known something was up.  

He’d asked her if she was ready for this afternoon. Lois had replied, “For sure Smallville! Hey, I have someone joining us…if you don’t mind?” Of course he minded! But he wasn’t about to say so. Clark had shaken his head, forced a smile on his face and said, “Oh? Is it someone I know?” She didn’t quite answer him, but she smiled a little more.

Okay, that was a clue that something was indeed up!

The Lunch hour came. When Clark was getting up to escort Lois to their designated Lunch at a nice little place not too far from the office, a GQ God decided to walk into the office looking lost. Sexy and Lost. The man was sex in expensive looking shoes, perfectly tailored suit hugging a ripped body, and a face any girl or guy would swoon for.  Clark felt the hot drain from him and suck itself into that man’s body. Compared to him, he was a fraction of that. The office was abuzz with his arrival, though it wasn’t as exciting or devastating when Lois got up and ran for him.

His name was Sergio (Pfft, figures). He was an up and coming tycoon entrepreneur, already playing with the big boys in some investments that would have people like Tony Stark and Bruce Wayne blinking at how risky he was willing to be. He owned chain of products that were all the rage in France, Sweden, and America, and he came from a “rags to riches” family. The best part? He’d bumped into Lois months ago…and recently bumped into her again, literally, on his way to a meeting not even a week ago. He wrapped his arms around her and revealed the perfect grin…which just undid anything Clark was about that morning.

Lois dragged Sergio over to Clark.

He knew it was a done deal.

“Sergio, this is Clark. He’s taking us to lunch today.”

That was the beginning of an end that went up in flames before it took off. Clark had taken them, and sat through their giggling, laughing, and blatant flirting. The check was astronomical to his reporter’s budget, and worse yet, Sergio had picked it up like it was nothing. He just casually slipped the paper from the small leather binder before Clark could get it, scoffed silently under his breath, and pulled out one of those black cards only elites carry. Clark knew Bruce carried one. It was shoved into his hands often enough.

Lois threw him a saucy smile and giggled when he took her hand and pressed his lips to it.

Rubbing salt in an open wound was the way of the rich. The GQ god had taken them out for Ice-cream. Not soft serve or some chain of ice-cream. This was a place that served some of the best ice-cream in the country, enough to ruin your taste for anything that came in a cardboard pint. One scoop cost as much as three cups of a Tall Caramel Macchiato, and tasted a lot better. Clark devoured his like a teenage girl in the midst of watching her best friend snag the hottest guy in school and reduced to watching _Sixteen Candles_ because she still had a curfew, and this guy’s friend was one of the ugly ones her best friend thought she should date because they’d look cute together.

He’d sulked until some random old woman had seated herself next to him and grabbed his hand like strange old mental people do when they’re having a moment. She babbled for the most part, and then told him some odd nonsense about his love being young and would not grow until his true love grew with him. She was obviously not sane…nor was the afternoon leading to chasing down criminals guilty of music piracy.

Superman was not about to tell Batman about that afternoon. Clark also wasn’t about to tell Bruce that the rich man passed out, or that Superman hadn’t quite made it to Batman’s designated room. Superman had gotten to his own, forgetting that he was carrying a passed out Batman in the midst of his thoughts. It was late, he was tired, and he wanted to forget most of the day filled with high hopes crashing down into the oblivion of nothing.

With some care to Batman’s unconscious form, he plopped the comatose man on his bed, mechanically removing the armor that Batman wore every night. He tossed the heavy things to the floor in a pile, covered by his cape and his own suit moments later. A much asked question was answered when he moved to turn out the lights. Bruce Wayne wore Boxers. He stifled a giggle and flicked off the lights with a yawn.

He wasn’t above sleeping in the same bed with his best friend. Bruce might have a cow in the morning, but for the moment, Clark did not care.

He’d deal with it all in the morning…and he would NOT tell Bruce that the man was cuddler.

+++++++++++++++++

Something warm and wet woke him from his sleep with a bit of a startled snort. Clark reached up to touch his face, and groaned to himself when he realized that there was drool on his cheek. He must have been sleeping harder than he thought. It was the only explanation he could think of. Krypto was nowhere in sight, since he lived with that human kid most of the time. He didn’t mind it, but it would have been nice to blame the drool on his dog rather than in his exhaustion getting the better of him.

He sat up wiping his face dry, his brain reconnecting everything from yesterday and stringing it to now. That included last night, falling asleep, and faintly aware of Bruce rolling over to bury himself against his side with a loud snore. Clark did his best not to laugh. Knowing Bruce, the man was probably long gone by now.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, all intentions of getting into the bathroom to take care of his morning business at the forefront of his mind. At least, until he felt something aside himself shuffle around on the bed. That was odd.

Clark turned around, expecting to see Bruce asleep, partially awake, or glaring at him. Either one was a given, although all three could happen. He’d been known to do that. Still, it would have been better than to find a small moving lump of something squirming under the sheets. It wasn’t big enough to be any creature that could have snuck in here during the night, and if it were certain imp, Clark was sure there would have been someone screaming by now.

So rather than draw out the suspense…he grabbed the sheet, yanked it off, and fell off the bed.

An amused giggle rang through the room. It wasn’t him. He moved the sheets from where they’d piled upon his head and peered up into the drooling face of a baby.

A baby that reminded him a lot of Bruce…because it was glaring at him.


	2. The Wrath of Sesame Street under the Reign of Dora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The baby stared right back at him, unblinking, unmoving, and almost daring him to say otherwise.
> 
> “That…is definitely Bruce Wayne.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh....we're doing this weekly.
> 
> Or trying to.
> 
> Got a couple of kudos and you guys are awesome. Keep em coming. I might not mess this up this time.

A.K.A - Raising Bruce Wayne

* * *

 

The baby stared right back at him, unblinking, unmoving, and almost daring him to say otherwise.

“That…is definitely Bruce Wayne.”

Clark had figured that out a while ago. After looking every which way from Sunday for a grown version of a baby nestled quietly in his lap, he had to concede that he was not going to find the grown version of Bruce Wayne anytime soon. Just to make sure that it was Bruce lying in his arms and not some random kid someone placed there as an ill-conceived joke, he took baby Bruce to the medical ward, where the Martian Manhunter, J’onn, stared at the baby for a good five minutes.

“Any idea of how this could have come about?”

“No.” None whatsoever. Clark still couldn’t wrap his head around it, or why he wasn’t freaking out completely. Maybe that part would come later. Right now, he was busy pulling his mental hairs trying to figure out what in the hell had happened, and why anyone would decide to do this to Bruce of all people.  The man wasn’t exactly the friendliest of people, but it wasn’t like he asked to be turned into a baby.

Seriously, who does that these days?

“His mental scans are similar to that of Bruce Wayne,” J’onn mentioned. “Although his brain wave pattern is at the age he currently is stuck in.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning…while he is Bruce…he is mentally about seven months old.”

Clark really should have been ashamed for what he thought in that moment. He held his head, one arm around the baby currently looking about innocently, and said, “They couldn’t leave him at an age where he was potty trained?” He regretted it the moment he said it. Again, it wasn’t like Bruce asked for this at all.

J’onn patted his shoulder. “I know it must be…disconcerting,” he said, “but I believe it is best that we think of something to do with Bruce in the meantime. We can’t keep a baby here on the watch tower.”

“You’re right…but I can’t just drop him off with someone!” He just couldn’t. It had all been lain out several moments ago when he’d placed Bruce down on the table for a moment to talk to J’onn. The pitiful whimper that baby had let out twisted something in him, but it was the loud wails that followed that had Clark running back to the table, scooping Bruce up into his arms and coddling him like some mother tending to their inconsolable child. Bruce settled down after a moment, sniffling and sucking on his hand for comfort. He kept his head on Clark’s shoulders, and clung to his shirt unwilling to let go.

Even now Bruce had a handful of Clark’s shirt in his fist. He kept his wide blue eyes on the Martian, snuggling deeper into Clark’s embrace as if to tell J’onn to stay away.

“The others can’t know about this,” Clark decided. “If anyone were to get wind of this, then people would come after him and I can’t spend the rest of my days beating skulls in.” Or worrying. That little part didn’t voice itself aloud, but it was leaning heavily against the obvious spilling out of Clark’s mouth. “But I can’t leave him with someone else…”

“Then…might I suggest something?”

J’onn took a step closer.

Bruce let out a small whimper and buried his face into Clark’s arms. Clark did the only thing that came to mind without thinking about it. He cooed and caressed that soft head of silken black, coaxing his face back out and making him look upward. He dried the tears that were starting to form, kissed that tender head, and made noises that only babies could understand.

J’onn, keeping as straight a face as he could, stepped back in satisfaction. “I believe it would be best if you take him,” he said.

He couldn’t be serious. “What?! Me?! Oh no I—“

“Just coddled him like a parent would their own child,” J’onn interrupted. “Bruce is not comfortable around other people aside those who know him, and I don’t think that either Tim or Dick could care for Bruce as adequately as you.”

Clark slapped his forehead in disgust. How could he have forgotten about those two!? “J’onn—“

“This week is the week for all young heroes to find themselves in boot camp,” the Martian reminded him, “And they won’t know. I believe their butler is on holiday as well, and for about a month.” Clark looked at him in surprise and the green alien shrugged. “I cannot help overhearing when you people mentally rant….and loudly at that.”

“….oh.”

“Don’t worry. I tend to forget after a few moments, but he’d been ranting for days.”

That sounded like Bruce all right. Usually the man spoke little when he was in the presence of others or behind that mask, but that didn’t account for his mental musings or just what he was might have been screaming about on the inside. He looked down at the small babe in his arms, unable to keep himself from smiling when those bright honest eyes looking up at him. The wide smile he got from that babe warmed something in his belly. It was probably the most honest Bruce would ever be.

Gently putting his finger in the hand reaching up, he decided that it would probably be best to just care for the little one, until they found out what happened, how it happened, and a way to reverse it. He said as much, and J’onn was already making the preparations to explain his absence for a little while. Who knew how long this would take to solve?

“I know one thing,” he muttered, lifting Bruce to set off a set of giggles that lit up the room, “I’m not raising you until you’re eighteen. That would just be…weird.”

Bruce spat bubbles at him.

* * *

Finding random things in the watch tower was more common than not, but this was ridiculous.

Clark pondered this. He could find no sure answer that would keep his brain from melting down. This was THE **Watchtower**. This was the home for all superheroes that choose to belong to this elite group in the name of bringing justice to the world below it; a place to teach the morale of what a hero was; to train those future heroes to protect themselves and uphold those truths as they took down whatever erupted from day to day, week to week, or whenever it wanted to deliver itself. He was pretty sure that it was only that and nothing more.

But that did not explain why he suddenly thought The Watchtower had to be a nursery when he came waltzing into Bruce’s room again just to make sure he hadn’t overlooked anything.

When things showed up without warrant, the alarms were usually going off. Bruce hated magic so much he’d found a way to detect it when it didn’t belong to one of their own.

Nothing had gone off. Not one alarm.

This stuff sitting in front of him, in Bruce’s room, had to be a result of magic.

It was **not** here this morning.

Someone knew about this. Someone thought that bringing this stuff here would help him take care of Bruce. It would, because he was a baby now dammit, but that just reiterated that someone KNEW about this and wasn’t telling him about the how and why he now had a baby billionaire genius in his arms.

Maybe this was one hilarious joke on someone else’s dime.

He wanted someone to just leap out of the shadows and scream, “You’ve been punk’d!” to which he’d calmly put the baby down and punch Bruce’s face in if he walked in with that Ashton Kutcher guy.

He really needed to stop watching old re-runs.

But Bruce was in his arms now, gurgling and slapping his arm excitedly every now and again. It wasn’t a joke, there was magic afoot, and he was still staring at the sudden NURSERY come hither in Bruce’s room. What it meant, sadly, is that this was real, he hated magic, and that this was probably some weird fucked up life lesson for whoever was involved.

It usually was.

Whoever thought this was necessary was kind enough to leave a stroller, a baby bag packed to the nines with clothing, bottles, baby foods, and more importantly, **diapers** (yay!), and that all important toy that Bruce immediately was reaching for the moment he saw it.

What Clark would not do ever in his lifetime, not even if he was on his deathbed and threatened under the life draining nuisance that was his weakness, was tell Bruce when he was grown again that he was just too adorable with the plush version of himself—not of Batman but of SUPERMAN thank you—in his little arms. The way his eyes just lit up did something to his heart, and while he would openly admit that he melted like the inner…sap (yes, sap was a good replacement for bitch)…he could be, he would not pay attention to the slight pang of jealousy that bubbled out of nowhere when Bruce occupied himself with playing.

He left the babe to sit on the bedding while he checked out the goods, inspecting anything and everything. The only thing he decided to do in the long run was to chuck the baby food. It might have been sealed, new, or whatever, but he didn’t think anyone let alone a baby should ever eat anything that had been sitting in a jar for god knew how long, and tasted openly like utter crap. If anyone wondered why babies made those faces when they ate that crud, it was because it tasted like crud.

He would do a better job of making baby food for Bruce that he would actually EAT.

That decided, he gathered up everything that was there, Bruce included with his new friend, and walked out into the corridor in time to bump into the one person he just did not want to see.

“Diana…”

“Clark? Wait…wha—whose baby is that?”

“Uh…” Now would have been a good time to be a certified liar. Cursing his inner righteous self and all that went with it, he fixed his face to smile and said, “He’s…a surprise.” And boy was he. He sure as hell wasn’t expecting him this morning. Was he expecting a grown man in his bed trying to lop off his head to keep his drunken little secret of cuddling to himself?

Yes.

A baby that glared with the best of them, even now as he took in Diana’s curious face?

No. Did not see **that** coming.

“A…surprise?”

“A-actually, I’m babysitting for a friend.” Oh, real nice. “He’s out of town for a little while and…he’s a single dad, but…he had this really important thing to do to make a better life for…little…Br-ian…Brian here!” Brian was as good of a name as any to come up with on the spot and he didn’t care about the sudden set of eyes on him staring at him like he’d lost his marbles. For all he knew he was dreaming and that the man was still cuddling him. “Yes, Brian...So, I’m going to be unavailable for a little while. You know, last minute…things. Heh heh…eh…”

Diana gave “Brian” a smile anyone could melt for, a gentle finger touching his soft cheek. “He’s so adorable,” she cooed. “If I didn’t know better I’d swear he looked like a mini—“

“NO! No he doesn’t look…like…his um, ah…mother. Yeah, he doesn’t look like…his mom,” Clark stammered. “His mom…left them.  My friend…uh, David, has stronger genes, and he was really glad because…you know, it’s kind of hard to stare at anyone’s face when they’ve left you for…whatever, you know? A mini blessing…he says.”

“So…you had to go get him?”

“Y-yeah! I had…J’onn…beam us up here.” Could he lie any worse than he was right now? He hoped to the high heavens that she didn’t decide to loop his hands with that damn lasso then and there. “I just….needed to grab some stuff, let him know I wasn’t going to be available for a bit.”

“Oh? So…you let Batman know as well?”

Oh, he didn’t have to let Bruce know. He was sitting in his arms swatting at the finger teasing him. “He’s…not available,” he replied. “I don’t think last night agreed with him. He vanished, and he won’t be back for a while either.”

Diana frowned thoughtfully to herself. “I knew something was bothering him.” She paused long enough to gently rub the top of “Brian’s” head, giggling at the open glare he gave her as he tucked himself back into Clark’s arms. “It seems he’s been taking private lessons from a certain Dark Knight’s photo,” she teased. “Has Brian been around Bruce?”

“Oh, all the time.” No, really. ALL the TIME. He wasn’t even going to contemplate outer body experiences. “In fact, I might take the little guy to see him later on…if I find him.” Not that he was currently in his arms drooling up a storm as he mouthed the head of that plush superman. He suddenly wasn’t so jealous of that thing now. “It might help soften him up a little.”

“All right then. Since he’s not here, I suppose laughing at his little outburst last night won’t be breeching protocol, much,” she chuckled. She shook her head, leaving them with a parting pat on the baby’s head and on Clark’s arm as she went on her way to do whatever she was going to do before. Hey, he didn’t ask and he wasn’t about to at this rate. He was just glad he didn’t run into anyone else, or certain teens that were too smart for their own good.

Speaking of which, his hearing picked up the excited animated talking of a certain speedster and the easy going minimal sentences of a green lantern that was not Hal. It was still weird not having Hal around, but a lot livelier since Hal’s mind had always been on something else, or someone else, or on matters belonging to the Corp. John wasn’t as concerned about his headquarters, although he had justified reason not to be. Sometimes being somewhere for so long fills you with things aside memories, and he’d been there once too often to say differently.

That didn’t mean he wanted to see them or explain “Brian” to them. So, everything in hand and everything securely in place, he took to the air and flew down the corridor with Bruce giggling in earnest.

“Hey, did you just hear…a baby?” Flash asked.

Green Lantern shrugged and shoved Flash a little. “Probably your inner child having a fit.”

“Hey! My inner child does not laugh when having a fit. He laughs when I shove you back and run like hell.”

And he did…which was why Clark was wincing at the colorful language coming from the two in-between bouts of laughter when they ran by him without looking. He peered down at Bruce still giggling, and said, “You’d better wait until you’re older to repeat any of that young man.”

Bruce hit him in the chin with the slobbered up part of his plushie.

* * *

Clark really should not have been surprised at this point, but it was still disconcerting to know someone had a hand in this and readily knew way too much about him. How else would he explain a baby bassinet, a play pen, and a play mat with several different toys on it in  **his** apartment?

Really? Yes, really.

Clark had gotten J’onn to quickly beam them down to earth, somewhere in the vicinity of his apartment. He figured that it would be a good start to what probably was the weirdest day of his life. How fitting that it followed what had to be the most disastrous day he could recall without mentally kicking himself more than twelve times. He should have known something was up.

Well, whatever. What was done was done and he was glad for several things as he looked around his apartment. Whoever, whatever, or whichever had done this to Bruce had seen fit to set up everything rather than being a complete douche about it and leaving everything in the box for him to assemble. It was only fitting. It wasn’t everyday someone could say that their best friend had been turned into a baby and that they had to take care of him or her. No, he was the one who was privileged with that…and with getting strange criminals that pissed themselves.

Yes Clark. Life was looking **_swell_**.

The next thing he could be grateful for was the quiet nature of Bruce at the moment. Bruce was in that transitioning phase of falling asleep and fighting it, which all around was making him crankier than he needed to be. Still, a nap wouldn’t hurt anyone, nor would a bottle full of warm soothing milk. Holding the slightly fussy baby against him, he made his way into the kitchen and into the fridge.

Why did it not surprise him to find several more containers of milk than he had yesterday morning?

Lactose Free at that.

Hmm…he didn’t know Bruce was Lactose intolerant.

“I suppose I just saved us a disaster with your diaper and my nose,” Clark muttered. “Now how do you want your milk? Warm or Warm? Your choice…really.”

Baby Bruce just looked up at him like he’d lost whatever mind he had…again. Clark grinned, and was promptly hit in the face again with that slobbered up plushie. “Okay, fine…have it your way. Warm it is.”

It was probably a good thing that he had some babysitting experience from his younger years, trying to make a buck on the side for some things for himself when his allowance wasn’t enough. While he had Lana to blame for that one, it was a good thing he remembered that babies did not like their mouths burned to death because someone else thought that what was warm to them would be warm to the baby. Bruce as an angry baby was scary, because he had to grow up sooner or later and he did not want to be accused of abuse because he hadn’t thought to check the bottle like someone without a lick of sense.

Bruce began to really fuss when Clark placed the bottle in the microwave. “I know, I know,” he cooed. “I promise you’ll get it in a moment.” Bruce wasn’t having it. He let out another whimper, this time letting it build into an all-out wail that rang Clark’s ears.  He rocked and shushed him, willing that timer to move faster.

Something foul hit his nose then…and he groaned openly when he realized just what THAT was.

“You didn’t,” he muttered to the wailing child. “Please tell me you didn’t…”

Oh yes, he did…and it was a lot.

Ignoring the chime of that said that bottle was done; he rushed over to where he’d dropped the baby bag. Bruce was not happy. Not in the least. His little face seemed to just get redder and redder, his unhappiness clear as day the longer he was in that diaper. Clark did his best to hurry, not thinking twice about what he was about to do or why. Normal people who had to change the diaper on their best friend turned baby would have probably freaked out and ran to get someone else to do it. Not Clark. Clark was noble, instinctive, brave—

“Oh dear—holy shit!!”

—and severely disgusted by what was in that diaper.

His face turned upwards at the smell, he did his best to change that without being sick. It was only when he’d successfully managed to get that diaper off did he realize mistake number one people tended to make when changing a baby.

He didn’t have anything to cover the couch he’d laid him on.

Bruce had quieted down to a sniffle…and Clark just KNEW…it was going to happen.

“Wait…wait-wait—NO! Arrg!”

And thus mistake number two: babies tended to pee when the air hit their little bottoms, and Bruce was no exception.

There was a nice little stain on his shirt that was warm, disgusting, and cooling rapidly thanks to the all mighty AC when all was said and done. Clark stared down at the babe, disgust evident in his face. Bruce thought it was funny. He giggled and kicked his legs, wriggling his hands upward in an effort to convey he wanted to be picked up.

And that’s when he realized why mistake number one was so important to correct as quickly as possible.

Fifteen minutes later, with a bottle in hand, Bruce in his arms sleepily sucking on the warm lactose free milk bottle, a new t-shirt on his frame and the other one in the wash, Clark was staring at the wet spot on his couch where he’d just about dumped the left over contents of an upholstery cleaner over that nice sized poopie stain Bruce’s little butt had left.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered to the sleeping babe. “And we’re changing your diet.”

Bruce turned his little face into his chest and sighed deeply as he fell away into wherever his dreams would take him. Clark watched him drift, and decided not to make him pay for the couch.


	3. The soliloquy of Diego’s demise at the hands of Kai-Lan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Things have been happening. Unwanted things. WORK things.

**Chapter 3:**  
The soliloquy of Diego’s demise at the hands of Kai-Lan

a.k.a.

Don’t pinch those cheeks

* * *

There were worse things Clark could have been doing right now. 

For instance, he could have been the poor schmuck who was standing outside in the pouring rain screaming to passing people about the crazy discounts at some techie shop. That poor kid did his job and did his job well, and was just as much of a fool for standing out there without an umbrella as well as taking on a job that people cared little to nothing about. 

He also could have been that hare-brained woman that was still, to his knowledge, arguing fruitlessly with someone who didn’t understand a lick of English. He’d bumped into her by accident, and like the blonde she portrayed she outright started screaming at him about manners and such. What she didn’t know, or didn’t realize, was that the man did speak English and was watching her face in pure amusement because he couldn’t believe that some people were that ignorant.

Clark shook his head a little, removing the memory from his mind. It seemed to be a signal for someone he hadn’t been paying much attention to in the first place, and when he looked down he was glad. 

“No sample for you sir?” 

He shook his head. The emphatic shake and his cross eyed look got him a gurgle of delight. 

No one in their right mind wanted anything to do with supermarket samples. He was sure it was just a revamp of an old product in new wrapping that should have had “grass” somewhere in the ingredients.

Whatever was in her hand looked a lot like a grass cake with the clumps of dirt added for flavor.

“I don’t think you’ll eat that,” Clark said looking down at his chest. “And I don’t think I’d eat it either.”

The baby currently sitting in his carrier wrinkled his nose in agreement. A binky in his mouth and hands busily tugging at the fingers in front of him, Baby Bruce was content to keep it moving, as was Clark silently laughing at him. Even as a baby it was easy to see when Bruce didn’t want to be bothered. He shoved their half full cart forward and walked past another sample table into the long awaited baby aisle.

The initial beginning of this had Clark in a slight panic. For one, he hadn’t babysat a kid in a long time. Secondly and more importantly, he was taking care of Bruce Wayne in baby form. 

Yes. Everyone panic about this.

Baby Bruce didn’t seem to mind this. He wasn’t uncomfortable and he was downright gleeful whenever he was in Clark’s embrace, babbling up at him or trying to reach something that caught his eye. It was that piece of him that had Clark on edge, and relieved. Bruce was always curious about everything. That was one piece about him that he couldn’t escape and further reminded him that he needed to keep a firm eye on his new charge.

If anything, Bruce should have been grumpy about this. He certainly was grumpy when it came time for him to go to sleep the first night, discontent written all over his smaller face as he realized that Clark was putting him down and that was not acceptable. He’d twisted his face up and let out the most pathetic whimper, reaching up for Clark as the man of the hour looked down and willed himself not to CAVE.

Babies needed to sleep in the crib.

He told himself no, and then he pointed at Bruce and said no.

Bruce let his mouth fall open.

Clark thought he’d die and scrambled to pick Bruce up before he could have heart failure. Not even several hours into it and he was already fucking this up. At least, he told himself that as he paced the floor with Bruce hiccupping against his shoulder like his little heart had been broken. 

Way to go Clark. You broke his little heart. You are awesome.

Bruce didn’t sleep in the crib that night.

Clark didn’t know babies could snore. He also forgot that they were early to wake and he’d gotten a wakeup call that consisted of a foul diaper and Bruce tapping on his chin like he was offended that Clark slept through that smell.

Yes, there were worse things he could have been doing, but he never would have imagined having to come down this aisle to buy diapers for anyone other than perhaps his own child one day. That day hadn’t come, but whoever thought it was funny to turn Bruce into a baby probably thought that Clark was going to be the completely witless flustered man who didn’t know a thing about babies and get a nice laugh out of it.

They were half right. He was winging this and he was going to WIN dammit.

Clark grabbed the Huggies for Bruce’s size and age range, hissing at the price. The only thing that was funny was the numbers people wanted to pay for diapers. 

“I know that look,” someone said with a laugh. “My sister has that look on her face when she has to buy diapers.”

It was a young woman who said it, a nice looking woman that smelt like soft clean linen and the scent of rain mingled with something sweet smelling. It was all that he thought about her. Her looks were average, and her demeanor the same. It was rather weird, because no matter how much of a man of steel he might have been for the masses, he couldn’t keep himself from blushing furiously when a lady approached him. Today, it seemed that the weather was decisive on his cheeks. They were just as cool as they could be and he was as uninterested in her charming smile as he had been those grass cake block things an aisle back.

He smiled back at her anyhow.

Bruce threw his binky right in her nose.

“Oh, Bruce!”

“It’s fine,” she laughed. Her hand was on her nose though, but she was more amused than irritated. “Let’s just be glad it wasn’t a rattle, huh?”

If Clark didn’t know any better he would swear that Bruce was looking around for one. That little scowl on his face was a clear cut fact that this couldn’t be anyone else, as he had discovered during the past three days of this. Bruce was quite clear on his emotions, and that little scowl popped up when he was not happy about something. Obviously it was the redhead in front of them, still smiling even after she picked up the binky and handed it back to Clark. “You’re a jealous one, aren’t you?” she cooed. “You don’t want anyone near him, huh? Well no worries, I have a guy at home waiting for me, and a little boy just as cute as you!”

Bruce’s scowl evaporated and he was all smiles and giggles, taking her finger between his hands and pulling with that baby babble no one understood but pretended to anyhow. She certainly spoke enough of it; tickling the underside of his chin when she was done getting another laugh out of him.

“Oh, he really is adorable,” she said looking up at Clark. “You said his name was Bruce?”

“H-huh? Oh, yeah…yeah. That’s his name.”

“Well, you have a fine baby. All he needs is a little love to grow up big and strong…and before you know it, he’s speaking right back at you.” She rubbed his head a bit, smiling brightly at the child that giggled adorably at her in response. “Who’s a good baby? You are! Yes you are!”

Clark swore then and there that he would not laugh about this.

Bruce, even as a baby, was a terribly good charmer, right down to his nearly toothless smile aimed at the hapless redhead falling for it and the drool on his chin. Clark reached out and wiped it dry, stuck with the image of a grown Bruce scowling about it if Clark ever decided to tell him about this.

Seeing this woman tickle his chin and speak baby gibberish to him was just too much for a man who knew Bruce Wayne in the grown buff and grouchy.

Oh, he could wait. 

He quickly swapped out the Binky Bruce threw for another one he had on hand and groaned at the little bat sitting in the center of it.

He may (would) never tell Bruce.

She left them with a parting wave and headed down the accursed aisle they were still stuck in.  
Oddly enough the only reason they were stuck in this aisle was because the diapers that were provided magically for Baby Bruce were horrible because of Bruce’s inability to NOT soak them through. It hadn’t even been two days and Clark was already looking for refills for his spot remover. He needed something that would hold a river and possibly a mudslide if need be. Baby Bruce never did things in half, not even messing up his diaper.

He was not going to think about how weird that was.

The diapers were taken care of, but there was the rest of it to contend with. Wipes. There were too many brands, scents, non-scents, sensitivity nonsensical blah, blah, blah. A box of wipes were only used for one thing most times, and the last time he checked, Bruce didn’t have a diaper rash (yet), wasn’t hyper sensitive, and wasn’t keen on smelling like chamomile and lavender. Cooling cucumber, maybe.

The regular baby powder scented wipes with the matching powder won out. Why pass up a classic? And what the hell were “boogie-wipes” anyhow? Isn’t that what the regular wipes could do?

“They have something for everything, and everything is useless after a certain age,” Clark muttered to himself. “And why do they have so many types of formula? Soy? Really?”

“Some babies have a more sensitive digestive system than others…if you want to know.”

No. He did not want to know. Nor did he ask, or want to remember the side effects of drinking soy. He turned to say so and wish he hadn’t. The portly woman standing aside him with one kid tugging at her leg and another strapped to her front looked like she was on the verge of passing out then and there. It was of no wonder if the two kids running up and down the aisle knocking everything over were hers. 

“If you two don’t stop that running, I swear I am going to lose it!” she screamed. “Gabrielle and Jonah go find your father and don’t make me come after you!”

The two kids stopped dead in their tracks, turned, and ran as fast as they could to another aisle. The woman grabbed the formula she was looking for—soy—and turned to Clark as she said, “Stop at one. Don’t let your wife talk you into another because then it doesn’t end.” She waddled off, rubbing her back, muttering something rather unpleasant under her breath in regards to her children and something about having tied her tubes when she had the chance.

He wasn’t going to acknowledge that she was perhaps pregnant, again, and was on her way to stab her joyful husband playing it up with her rambunctious children a few aisles over.

He looked down at Baby Bruce and said, “You’re not getting a brother or sister. And you’re not growing up to be a brat. You’re already one.”

Baby Bruce cooed up at him, giggling as he grabbed Clark’s finger dancing in front of him. He knew it was useless to think that Bruce would grow up to be a brat, because he wasn’t quite on that level. He was a grouch, and a complete one eighty from the baby that blew spit bubbles behind his binky and thought it was the funniest thing when Clark wiped his little cherub face with a watery smile of disgust and pure amusement.

It was time to get out of this aisle. 

He didn’t get the soy formula. There was no sense in it if he was just going to have funkier gas than the bombs in his diaper. 

He hadn’t gone quite as far as the bread and cereal aisle when he heard what had to be the most annoying squeal he’d ever heard in his entire lifetime. Clark had heard some rather annoying noises, and fell out when sonic waves rattled his brain or tossed him into the side of the building. He’d run when Black Canary was training and never played with Siren in Mortal Combat. This though…this terrified him. It wasn’t because of who it was, because he really didn’t know who it was, but it mattered because that squeal signified that the owner of that horrid signal had found something CUTE to gush over.

The only thing cute in their fifty foot radius was Bruce jostling backwards in shock when that woman popped out of nowhere and scared the living shit out of Clark. Clark couldn’t have stopped her even if he knew she would come bustling away from her buggy full of food, her plump fingers reaching up and squeezing flesh without asking or thinking about the consequences. She was the most annoying type of person anyone could be around.

A cheek pincher.

“Ooh! Look how cute and cuddly he is!” she gushed, squeezing Bruce’s small cheeks. “Such a handsome pooka, yes you are! Oh, he’s going to be quite the lady killer!”

Clark was going to be a lady killer in a second. “Ma’am!”

Bruce’s binky fell out of his mouth.

The heart stopping silence following the wail had Clark in pieces.

“Aw, the poor thing! Are you hungry? Or maybe someone made a stinky! Is that it? Poor baby…”

Clark ignored her and pulled Bruce out of his seat in the cart, trying to hush him with that woman hovering over him worriedly. That woman had pincers for fingers! His little cheeks were redder than they should have been and there were marks! 

If it wasn’t a crime and Clark didn’t feel like cleaning up that mess, he might have sent her into the cereal behind them with a shove. He was incensed, livid past normal boundaries, and that scared him more than Bruce vamping up the wailing and crying until his little face was covered in snot and tears. He reached into the diaper bag sitting neatly in the cart and grabbed some wipes, cleaning his little face and shushing him with soft cuddles and kisses on his downy soft hair.

“You’re all right…you’re okay…” he cooed, quieting the baby even more. “That’s it…nothing to cry about…”

Well, nothing short of having someone’s pincer fingers on their cheeks and thinking it was their right to gush over someone too cute for words. He turned to tell that woman to mind her fingers, but she was off down the aisles pinching the cheeks of one of those kids that belonged to the woman on the verge of a mental meltdown. 

He supposed it was for the best. He turned back to Baby Bruce, kissing that sniffling nose and his cheeks again without thinking about whom it was or why he was doing it. It was natural and comforting for him to feel Bruce snuffle against his neck, tears dry and sleep beckoning from that traumatic experience.

It reminded him of not two days ago when Bruce had rolled over in his bed and sleepily glued himself to his side with his shoulder as a pillow. He’d been too tired to do anything else but file it away as a means of extortion if Bruce pissed him off, and a source of great laughter when the word “Cuddler” and “Bruce Wayne” were mingled in the same living sentence.

He had ignored the flutter in his stomach and the wistful thinking that it was nice having someone in his bed.

Even if it was a man who was drunker than he looked and probably had good reason to be. Clark’s day certainly had been a whopper, but what could have been so bad that Bruce had unknowingly gotten drunk right under their noses?

He moved Bruce’s slumbering frame from his shoulders and carefully tucked him back into the carrier, this time with his little body snug against his chest. He couldn’t keep from kissing that head once more.

He’d done it before a life time ago…when Bruce wasn’t this little bundle in his arms. He’d been a broken man hurt far more than he’d let on…and though Diana and he had teased him about it, he did come back and visit him when he was asleep, compelled to kiss that slumbering head out of his nightmare.

He hoped that Bruce wouldn’t dream about anything from when he was adult, and he hoped that he wouldn’t dream about that woman’s fat finger’s pinching his little cheeks.

“He’s dreaming about you…”

“Huh?”

“He’s dreaming about you, my boy.”

There was another woman, a little old lady that had crept up on him without him noticing. She looked vaguely familiar, but most of them tended to look like one another when they wore scarves over their white and silver crown of curls and smelt the way they looked. Not mothballs and bengay, but comfortable and soft. She wasn’t much taller than his chest, and her eyes had lost a good bit of their color from her many years of seeing the world as it was. She could see well enough to pat his arm though, and smile at the sleeping babe that used to be his grown friend. She patted the small back as well, her dark frail looking hands more loving than anything Clark could remember seeing.

“This babe…he loves you more than anything…and he can freely do so without the idealistic views of this world hampering his feelings,” she spoke softly. “In this form, he is allowed to love whom he wants to, and can accept whatever love is given and grow from it. This is the secret of babies and why they are such precious gifts. They have unyielding hearts and are so easily given an abundance of it without their asking…provided they are paired with someone who can love them without the bias of the world interfering.”

“The bias of…the world?” Clark asked curiously. “What…what do you mean?”

“The world wants what the world wants…and the people in it think they are the masters of life and time and all things that progress. This is not so. They feel that they can dictate how things will be, and people fall into the prerequisites that are set up for them on a basis of tradition. People forget that everything can and will eventually be snatched from them, and what is most precious is discovered when it is taken away. When love is taken away…it hurts more than anything. When it is given…it is often taken for granted. When you take away and then give…you see a gem that is unpolished, but full of promises that the shined cleaned and priced gem could not give. You have to work to see that same gem in that light, but you love it and appreciated that much more. Love is like that when you are grown…but when you are young, it’s so easy to love freely without asking for something other than that love back.”

She patted the back of his head this time, smiling wordlessly when Bruce started to snore. “This little one will grow with all the love you muster for him. He will grow into a fine young man that knows its value because it comes from someone who cares enough to do what some think is a burden.”

She looked at down the aisle at the miserable woman staring despondently at her kids. Her kids were only being kids, and their father was enjoying them as they were. She was more focused on everything that came with raising a child, and while that was a necessary part of the whole, it needn’t be the sole focus. 

Clark felt a soft tug at his arm. 

The elderly lady was headed around the corner when he turned back again. The soft tug had come from the suddenly not so sleepy Bruce, grabbing at the strings of his jacket. The inquisitive eyes that held the strings in awe of them were the very same that shone when the grown man had succeeded in doing the impossible more often than not.

He missed his friend.

“Is it me or have you gotten heavier?” Clark mused as he walked on. He still had his own shopping to do and a life to lead even if this baby had integrated himself into it accidently. It was no fault of his, and Clark wasn’t going to act like it. He wasn’t going to tell himself that he’d do it for anyone in this situation, because that would have been a lie and he couldn’t lie well. Bruce, highly unaware of Clark’s roaming thoughts, reached up and placed his hands on Clark’s mouth.

He squealed in laughter when Clark blew into them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of don't want him to grow up. Ever.

**Author's Note:**

> And...yeah. He's a baby.


End file.
